"Titre Du Blog"

How did I get in this mess? How did I allow myself to make the wrong choices every fucking day? How did I let happiness slip away? 
I know how everything happened, I’m used to being second option. I know I won’t get what I want and how I want it, because that life wasn’t meant for me. I have dealt with it since ever and I know it won’t get better. I just don’t know why it keeps hurting as hell. I’m dying, I have no self-peace. I’m being so used, and I can’t stop it. I can’t stand the idea of being alone again, and it isn’t like I’m so crowded right now.
I know I deserve better, but knowing is not enough. I don’t want to just “know”, I wanna feel and to have. Traveling hasn’t been enough, nor friends, or parties, or life. The only times I have felt so alive and in such a peaceful mode are so gone. Memories don’t feed happiness. I don’t like the person I am right now. I don’t like myself. I wouldn’t go out with me, not to mention I wouldn’t bother to love me. I’m broken in such an arranged way that people don’t take enough time to fix me. But why should people fix me??? When did I become so inefficient and reckless that I have to depend on more people? 

I know that I want, but as always, I have no fucking idea of how to get there. 

What’s the point in allowing yourself to love somebody else? I keep telling myself that I’m not in love with him, but whatever that comes from yourself isn’t that reliable, is it? 
So I pushed myself into liking this guy, maybe because I never thought I could get this far, or because I was expecting the same from him. He’s not even a “guy”, he’s a grown person. I crossed every marked line with my awkwardness and my intensity, but he never stopped me. Now that I think about it, why did I wait for him to stop me? Am I so love-desperate that I didn’t know how to get the signals?… Anyway I kept falling, and falling, fucking fast and hard for him. He kept answering me and showing me that he would take time for me. Not the time I would have liked tough.
I kept telling myself that there were aspects in his life that stopped him from making a move, or that he may have thought I wasn’t into him, even tough I was as subtle as rock. I kept keeping my hopes so high, that now they’re dead up there and I cannot take them down.
I took the courage, I was the one who said “hey, we need to talk” and he just said “yes, of course”. And it didn’t happen. What the actual fuck? Am I the only fucking person that takes seriously their commitments?. We said we would meet, and I had to cancel, so I put it up to him. Of course he hasn’t talked back, why should he? What do I think I am in his life for him to take me that seriously?
I just wanted to talk, to get to know him, because I wasn’t even sure that I had fell for him and not for the feeling and excitement. I just wanted to take a chance, to look back at this moment in the future and said “at least you tried”. But oh yes I tried, and I have failed big time.
Now if he ever takes the initiative to talk again, what am I gonna say? I don’t need to talk to him no more, I already know the answer: he’s just not that into me, or not into me at all. I already know I fucked up, because I allowed myself to fall for someone who obviously wasn’t gonna fall for me too. I just wanted to be young and reckless and take chances at the same time. I didn’t want to be a coward, but now I get why there are so many out there. It hurts as fuck to be brave. I haven’t cried this much since the first time I saw the Lion King.
The funny thing is that I already knew I was playing with fire, and I knew that there were 99% of probability I would get burn. Apparently my brain didn’t send the message to my heart.
Now I really don’t know how to handle this. Nobody prepared me for this moment in my life when you run out of things you never actually had. And the thing that hurts the most, it’s that he doesn’t know all this, he doesn’t know how desperate I’m to spend time and share my present with him. He doesn’t have the slightest idea of how serious and important this fucking subject is to me. But how could he? He didn’t even take the time to meet up for a coffee. How can you be mad at someone for not caring for you back? It’s not their fault. I guess I just have to accept this shit and move on. Easy to say, so fucking hard to do. But I wanted to be a grown-up, and this is what grown-ups do: they fucking fix their broken hearts. 

Escribir, la madre curadora de todos los males. Escribir es como hablar contigo mismo mediante palabras que sólo tu y tu interior saben qué significan realmente. Escribir es a la mente como dibujar al alma, simplemente lo deja ser y fluir. Espero que escribir sea lo que me salve de mí misma.